


We'll All Still Be Here In The Morning

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [23]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tag to Musketeers Don't Die Easily, d'art can't sleep, there are snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone settles down for the night after the whole fiasco that was episode 10 is over.<br/>D'Artagnan can't sleep, and he can't wake Athos because every time he closes his eyes he sees the face of the man who shot him.<br/>He can't wake Aramis because he reacts badly to being woken unexpectedly by anyone but Porthos<br/>Which leaves Porthos himself.</p>
<p>For this prompt on the kinkmeme: http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/774.html?thread=802310#cmt802310</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll All Still Be Here In The Morning

It took all of them a long while to sleep that night, after everything that happened. Aramis because when he shut his eyes, he couldn't help but see the blood on his hands as he desperately tried to keep it inside their youngest - the despair he felt at the thought that they might lose him was as great as anything he'd felt about Savoy. Even knowing now that he was alive and safe and it was all over with, he couldn't help but flash back to how still he was in the captain's arms and think that, if they ever did lose him - they would never be the same again. There was also the fact that Queen Anne was pregnant, and the child was his... if such a thing ever came to light- there was no way that Porthos or d'Artagnan could ever know-

 

_They'll hang you, and then they'll hang me for letting it happen_

 

Athos' words reverberate through his brain. He cannot condemn the innocent of their brothers to the same fate, should the truth come out. Eventually, after saying his prayers under his breath, imploring the Heavenly Father for forgiveness, he drifted off into dreamless sleep.

 

Athos took longer even still to find rest. He cannot help but think of his wife, and what she must be doing now - is she on a boat, is she in England, Spain, where? He hoped to know only so that he may never risk seeing her again, because damn her, he still loves her. Despite what's she had done to him, what she did to Thomas - the way she manipulated d'Artagnan - she was still his wife. And he her husband. He still thought of her kisses, her caresses- how very _good_ they would have been together, if only-

_There can be no peace for either of us, until we are both dead_

 

There may have been some truth in that. But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that moment when d'Artagnan staggered backwards, hands holding his side, staring up at him with something like betrayal in his eyes, and knowing this wasn't part of the plan. Knowing that he could very well have killed his brother. The pain and fear on d'Artagnan's face had been so very heartbreaking. The boy had never been shot before - it was obvious he'd gone into shock. He'd lost consciousness. Athos had been sure he was going to die, until Aramis had suggested taking him back to the garrison - _it had been_ that _bad?_ Bad enough for them to consider abandoning the plan completely? But then Milady had stepped in and insisted that d'Artagnan not be treated by _friends_ who would kill him for saving a woman's life. He'd all but collapsed after he'd watched her drag him away. Still not moving, still not waking. Had he even been breathing?

 

Now, though, he watched d'Artagnan from across the room - safe, home, alive. True, he'd had his heart broken all over again when Madame Bonacieux had chosen to stay with her husband, but at least he knew the truth now - that would always be better than the lies. They had all been tangled in a web of so many lies. The truth had come out now - well, the truth about his wife and the Cardinal, at any rate. The other truth, he and Aramis would keep to themselves. If it did eventually blow up in their faces, there was no reason that d'Artagnan and Porthos should have to hang - those two, out of all of them, had the most reason to live. Porthos would have his Alice, and with none of the others to hold back his temper, d'Artagnan would take Constance back, consequences be damned. Such a consuming and fiery love was something he could not help but envy. His own love had been so cold, only ever with the illusion of warmth. Pulling his blankets closer to him, he rolled over and closed his eyes, forcing the images in his mind to submit to the darkness of sleep.

 

It seemed that Porthos alone slept soundly. Now that all that mess was over and done with, he just felt happy and secure in the fact that they lived another day, and were all safe and close to each other - being able to listen to d'Artagnan breathing was a great comfort - they'd never let the boy know just how much his injury had terrified them, as they'd held him and tried to beg him to stay with them, to stay awake. But that was all past now - Aramis had checked the wound and found that Milady had been a surprisingly competent nursemaid to their youngest. Athos had gone pale as clean sheets upon seeing the wound, and d'Artagnan had waved all their worries away.

 

D'Artagnan, who was now awake with worries and fears of his own. Despite his assurances to the others, his side ached and throbbed and every time he moved the pain flared up and all he could feel was the moment that the bullet tore through him, and the shocked and guilty face of the man who stood before him with the gun in his hand. He remembered thinking - _I'm going to die_ and _this will kill Athos_. He remembered Athos' shout of "You fool!" and the underlying - _I'm so sorry, please forgive me_ which lay underneath it. He remembered Milady helping him, being _kind_ to him, and hating himself for appreciating that.

 

" _You would hardly be the first she has deceived"_ Athos had assured him when he had told them that he recognised the woman, and the flowers as well. He'd been prepared for Athos to hate him - instead the older man had begged _him_ for forgiveness. A part of him had wanted that hate, because he felt like he deserved it, for being such an utter fool. That might have contributed to the plan that he'd made to deceive Milady. Just a little.

 

Even knowing what she was, it was hard to do this to her. Why was that? She'd taken Constance captive and tried to kill her - how could he feel any sympathy for her after she'd done that? And Constance... she refused to leave her husband, even though she knew he would make her life miserable. But she did love him, so he held onto that as if his very life depended on it.

 

He didn't know what to feel anymore. Only that he felt so very alone, despite being surrounded by his brothers. He needed more reassurance than the sound of their breathing to know that they were really there. Looking over at Athos, he could see that the man had finally gone to sleep, and he didn't really want to disturb him. Besides, if he dreamt of... that night, then he didn't want Athos to feel any more guilty than he already did.

 

Aramis didn't react well to being woken, he knew that from experience, even if he would perhaps be the one most understanding of his heartbreak and his need for human warmth.

 

So that left Porthos, who was also sleeping, but d'Artagnan was sure he could wake him without any adverse affects. He shook him gently and the man blinked up at him before frowning, looking at the boy sitting on the side of the bed.

"What is it? Is it your side -  did you rip your stitches? Want me to wake Aramis so he can take another look?" He asked, full of concern, and d'Artagnan couldn't help but think of when he'd been held by him and Aramis and the captain, their presence soothing even through the haze of pain and the pull of the darkness. He shook his head.

"No it's not - I mean, it still hurts but that's- nothing's ripped, I'm _fine..._ it's just - this probably sounds stupid but could you just budge over a little?" He muttered, and Porthos smiled fondly before shifting over and patting the bed with his hand.

"Too cold?" d'Artagnan smiled at the fact that Porthos was giving him a decent excuse for wanting to share the bed, but there had been enough lies and omission of facts between them all already.

 

"No, I... I know it's stupid when you're all right here but- every time I close my eyes it's... and I just-" he felt his face going red as he mumbled, feeling embarrassed at himself for being frightened of _Athos_ of all things, even if it was just an Athos which his dreams had conjured to torment him. He wanted to forget that whole night, if he was being honest with himself, but it was etched into him forever, both in his mind and in his skin. It was going to leave quite the scar, Aramis had said.

"Didn't want to be alone?" Porthos asked gently. He nodded, keeping his eyes downcast, feeling surprised when Porthos all but pulled him into the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around the boy.

These arms were strong and safe - they would protect him from the world. He felt himself start to sob, his body shaking, and Porthos' hold reassuring, but not trapping. He could get away from this any time he liked, but he didn't want to. He surrendered to the safety of those arms.

"Want me to wake the others too? Or do I get you all to myself?" He joked, but d'Artagnan just shook his head against Porthos' chest. His heart broke for the kid - he'd been through a hell of a lot lately, and held himself together for so long. It was no wonder he needed to break down after everything.

"There now, kid. 's alright. I get it." He soothed and shushed the Gascon until he finally felt the boy relax against him, having exhausted himself completely. Couldn't be easy, being shot by someone you looked up to as much as d'Artagnan did Athos, plan or no plan. Besides which - hadn't he and Flea and Charon slept like this, pressed close together, even when it wasn't cold, just so that each knew the others were still there? And if that was what d'Artagnan needed, then that was what he would give him, warmth and the reassurance that they were all still there for each other, and that nothing could break the bonds of brotherhood that they shared.

 

"We'll all still be here in the morning" He promised, murmuring the words to the top of the boy's head, "And every morning after." At least until they all got themselves killed in whatever harebrained scheme lay over the horizon.


End file.
